When You're Evil
by His Majesty the Emperor
Summary: Ten years after Operation: I.N.T.E.R.V.I.E.W.S, on a cold winter night, two villains wonder if it was all worth it.


**I do not own Codename: Kids Next Door, that would be Cartoon Network. I'm just playing around with an idea that popped into my head from one of my favorite shows when I was a kid. Please leave a review!**

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The forecast had said there would be snow this evening, but they'd never said there would be this much.

Mr. Boss cursed under his breath as he drove slowly up the drive way to the mansion. His windshield wipers were fighting a loosing battle against the oncoming snow. Not that it mattered. The visibility outside was rapidly approaching zero as blizzard conditions set in.

His wife had practically begged him not to go out, but he had to.

It was Thursday night after all, and there was business to attend to.

There was always business to attend to, but this business superseded all others. It could not be put off.

As he got out of his car he reached over and grabbed the bottle of brandy he had put in the passenger seat. As he closed the door he looked up at the old mansion and shivered at the cold.

Again he let out a small curse, this one aimed at himself for going out without a hat.

As vociferously as he denied it to his erstwhile colleagues he was indeed going bald, and he could feel the cold seep into his scalp.

As he approached the front door Mr. Boss looked the mansion over with a keen eye. It was still a fine manor, but even with the increasingly poor visibility it was clearly entering into the early stages of neglect. The paint was beginning to chip and peel, the lawns (what little he could see that wasn't covered in snow) were unkempt, and the marble was beginning to crack.

As he rang the doorbell he wondered for the hundredth time if his observations were a worthwhile topic of discussion.

The door swung open before he could make up his mind.

"Fulbright?" The figure at the door asked.

Mr. Boss nodded gruffly. It was somewhat foolish and awkward for the two of them to use their nom de plumes in private, and the two men had long ago agreed to put them aside when there was no one else around.

"You didn't forget, did you Benedict?" Mr. Boss asked. "It's Thursday."

Benedict Uno, the man known and feared the world over as Father, looked over the rim of his glasses at the man standing on his stoop. Mr. Boss didn't show it, but he was mildly surprised by Father's appearance.

He was out of uniform, again. Normally, in the past, Father had worn suits of pure shadows that consumed his entire body. He would glow red and his eyes would flash bright yellow. He had looked and sounded like a demon, like a nightmare come to frighten naughty children.

Now though, wearing his thick red glasses and dressed in his button down shirt, with suspenders, long black slacks and a bow tie, he looked as unthreatening as one could imagine.

"Of course I haven't forgotten." Father snapped irritably. "I just assumed," He paused, before making a vague motion with his hand towards the worsening snow storm.

Mr. Boss rolled his eyes.

"Do you honestly think I'd let a little snow get in my way?"

Father didn't answer, and instead turned on his heel and beckoned him in.

The mansion was dark and foreboding. Mr. Boss could feel the dust hanging in the air. He ran his fingers idly over a table and felt the dust accumulate on his fingertips. Being a villain, he couldn't miss an opportunity to make a joke at Father's expense.

"Jeeze Benedict, I thought you had a butler."

"He quit." Father muttered as they entered into the parlor. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and the two villains took a seat in two high backed chairs placed close to the fire. Despite the fact that Father had claimed to not be expecting him, two glasses were sitting on the table next to where they sat.

Mr. Boss took the brandy he had been holding and placed it on the table next to him. He picked up the two glasses, gave each a generous portion of brandy, and handed one to Father. Father nodded his appreciation and raised his glass.

"To your health." He said, and then he downed it all in one gulp.

Mr. Boss took a sip as Father refilled his glass.

"You know, you're supposed to sip this stuff, not chug it." He noted bemusedly.

"I don't really care." Father responded.

They sat together in silence for a minute.

"You're in a bad mood tonight." Mr. Boss finally said.

"Villains are rarely known for being in good moods." Father noted snidely.

Mr. Boss leaned back in his chair and considered his glass. "How the hell did we get involved in this nonsense?" He finally asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Father.

"We call ourselves villains Benedict. Have you ever stopped to wonder how it is we wound up wasting our free time trying to destroy a bunch of snot nosed brats?"

"All the time, Fulbright, all the time." Father replied. "And every time I asked myself that, I responded that I got involved in this nonsense because I can't stand children."

"I hate kids just as much as you do Benedict, but that only explains why. How did we get roped into this mess in the first place?"

"You should know how." Responded Father. "Once a man has seen into the abyss, he can't ever look away."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Said Father irritably, "That a man of your position, a man of your disposition, took it upon himself to send the children of his employees off to Pluto so he could pay them less and have them work longer hours. An ingenious plan." Father raised his glass in salute, a small smirk etched into the stony crevices of his face.

"But your plan was foiled by a bunch of children. And as far as those wretched Kids Next Door are concerned, that was the end of that. But you and I know that once a plan is foiled and those brats have wandered off, we are left behind, our pride shattered. To be beaten by children is…undignified.

And so you sought your vengeance. You began looking for ways to get even with the child who foiled your plan, and in doing so you uncovered the greatest threat to our way of life."

"You think those delinquents are that big a threat?" Mr. Boss asked.

"I know they are that big a threat, and so do you." Said Father.

"Have you ever imagined, Fulbright, what the world would look like if the KND succeeded? If they overthrew the adults and took control of the world? Have you ever seriously given it any real thought?"

He had. When he had first learned of the Kids Next Door, of the scope of their organization and of just how organized they were, Mr. Boss had known that he was looking into the potential Twilight of civilization. The world of adulthood had granted him success and recognition beyond imagination.

But a world where children ruled was a world gone mad. It would be anarchy, it would be bedlam! And to a businessman who craved order and stability, such a world was anathema to the few things he cherished.

Someone had to put those brats out of business, and he had decided then and there that he would be one of the ones to do it.

He had always suspected that he was evil. The implications of his original plan for his employee's children had been grim. And he wasn't insane, at least, he didn't think so. He knew what was right and what was wrong. He understood that he had crossed a line.

He also understood that this didn't bother him. At all.

And when he had learned that there were others who shared his views, fellow adults who despised children and hoped to keep them in their place, he had felt even less bothered by his plans to ensure that his world, a world where he was on top, would never, ever, be overcome.

"The thought had crossed my mind. Didn't much care for it." He finally admitted.

"Neither did I." Said Father.

"Still," Mr. Boss pressed, "To somehow end up in the same circles as Mr. Fizz, or Knightbrace, or even that sorry freak Toiletnator!" he shuddered. "In a normal life, men like you and I wouldn't be caught dead with those losers."

"One of the many reasons why I often work alone." Said Father after he took a sip of brandy.

"You've worked with other villains before." Mr. Boss noted.

"Yes, but not by choice." Father responded. "Cooperation with those masked goons was a last resort if several of my plans were to succeed." He glowered darkly, and some of the demonic light still left in his eyes smoldered. "Not that they ever did."

The flames in the hearth leapt up, flashing brighter and hotter in the fireplace. Mr. Boss took no notice. It was an old trick the pyrokinetic had used to intimidate his rivals. He was long used to it.

"You, however, were much more ready to work with the other villains when push came to shove." Father noted.

Mr. Boss shrugged. "I'm a boss. It's in my name. I was just starting out back then. Not everyone can turn their entire business into a slush fund for their personal war on childhood without the IRS noticing, you know."

Father tapped his finger on the armrest in irritation at the passing reference to his small corporate empire, Evil Adult Industries. Mr. Boss continued.

"I used the one thing I was good at. Telling people what to do and getting them to do it. On their own those other villains were a bunch of disorganized cranks with a chip on their shoulder. In order to fight an organization like the KND, you need an organization of your own. And if I couldn't use my company like you use yours, then I'd take what I could get."

"And what has it gotten you?" Asked Father.

"Not much." Admitted Mr. Boss. "I was surprised at first when all those villains fell in line when I first came on the scene. They had been rudderless for so long, lashing out on their own at the Kids Next Door. I suppose they saw me, the big, successful business man, and decided I knew what I was doing. I thought I could turn those villains into a well-oiled machine. Turns out I was wrong."

"That plan to send those kids to Pluto certainly put you on the map. A shame nothing came of it." Father said ruefully.

"What's with you?" Mr. Boss asked. "You're acting like someone died or something."

"It's nothing." Father insisted. "It's just this weather, I can't stand the cold. Messes with my powers."

"I've seen you deal with the cold before, this is something else." Mr. Boss insisted.

Father got up and moved to stand by the mantle. He put a hand in his pocket. Idly, he stared at the clock on the mantle as he swirled the brandy in his other hand. The clock struck nine.

"It's been over ten years Fulbright." He finally said, his voice low and filled with anger.

Mr. Boss knew what he was talking about.

"You're STILL upset that Numbuh One stole your pipe? Even by our standards that's just petty Benedict! Just go out and buy another damned pipe!

"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE PIPE!" Father roared, his skin and clothes consumed by flames. There was the Father children everywhere knew and cowered before!

"He's gone! That miserable nephew of mine defied me more times than I can count without consequence! Took what was MINE! Destroyed my perfect Delightful Children! And I can't find him anywhere!

Father paused, and Mr. Boss was shocked to see the bane of children everywhere slowly wilt and crumble into his chair. It was as though the air had been let out of a balloon.

"I've searched everywhere." Father whispered. "His parents don't know where he is. All of his teammates have been decommissioned, so they don't know either. I can't have vengeance on them either, not with their memories and experiences in the KND wiped. It just wouldn't be the same."

Mr. Boss, as his name indicated, was a savvy businessman. Part of being a businessman was knowing the motivations of one's partners and rivals. The Pipe, Numbuh One, and his old teammates were a part of the problem, but he knew they were not the root of it.

"That's not what's really bothering you though, is it?" He asked.

Father took a deep breath, swallowed the rest of brandy, and shook his head.

"I found another gray hair this morning." He admitted. "This is the twelfth I've found this month."

Mr. Boss rubbed his hand over his balding head, what little hair he had left was flecked with gray as well.

"We're getting old, you and I." Mr. Boss admitted. "And we don't have a lot to show for it."

"No, we don't." Father said tersely.

"Why do we keep doing it then?" Asked Mr. Boss, "Why do we keep fighting?"

"Because the world is cruel." Said Father bitterly. "The world is cruel and unforgiving, and if you're going to survive and keep what's yours you have to be even more cruel and unforgiving just to hang on. Operatives come and go, but the Kids Next Door remain. And so long as those brats keep trying to destroy the rightful order of things, we have to continue the work of adulthood."

"You make our work sound noble." Mr. Boss noted.

Father actually let out a dark chuckle at that.

"It isn't. The difference between the two of us and the rest of the adults in the world is that we're uninhibited and self-aware. We'll do anything to keep what power and influence we've managed to scrape together from this relentless world. The KND would take all of that away if kids made the rules. If that means that we are selfish, then so be it."

"I suppose you're preaching to the choir. But it is getting harder, at least, for me it is." Mr. Boss said as he rubbed the back of his head gingerly.

"Got into a fight recently with the kids from Sector J, got clocked in the back of the head. All these fights, all that running around, its really starting to take its toll."

Father nodded his head in appreciation.

"We're slowing down. It comes with age. But we can't stop. We can't stop for a moment. Not after all they've done. We can beat them, it's just a matter of finding out how."

Mr. Boss held his tongue. He could have mentioned, despite his insistence that they couldn't stop, that Father was indeed beginning to stop. His plans were increasingly few and far between. He went to fewer of the villain meetings than ever before. He was slower in a fight, and his fire just wasn't burning as bright as it used to.

They were both slowing down. And Mr. Boss suspected that Father's heart wasn't fully in it anymore.

Instead of broaching such a topic Mr. Boss turned the conversation to lighter topics. The two men spent the next several hours discussing the latest business trends, the newest developments in the political arena, and occasionally reminisced about some of their more memorable plans in something resembling companionable company.

Outside the storm gradually abated, and by two AM the clouds broke and the snow plows came out to clear the roads.

Mr. Boss, not being sober enough to drive, excused himself from the parlor to use the restroom. As he traveled down the hall he paused for a moment to look at one of the portraits on the wall. He had never had much of an eye for art, but something about the portrait struck his eye.

Was that..? Yes, yes, that was Grandfather! And in human form no less. The demonic sire of Father himself was as dour in the portrait as he was in real life, sneering down his nose like he was the king of the world. To his right stood a sullen, rebellious looking child who Mr. Boss didn't recognize.

But on Granfather's left, in the far corner, was a small, cringing, bespectacled boy with watery blue eyes. He looked miserable and perhaps envious as well. Was that…?

Yes, that little boy in the corner was Benedict as a child.

Mr. Boss moved on. The next frame had a large, blown up photo which depicted Benedict as a young man in a tuxedo. This time however, he appeared genuinely happy. His bright blue eyes sparkled with joy as he looked lovingly into the eyes of the woman he was holding in his arms.

She was wearing a wedding dress.

A small plaque dated the photo as having been taken on January 17, 1988.

That's odd, wasn't today January 17th?

The third portrait portrayed an older Benedict. This one was dressed in the button down shirt, suspenders, and bow tie that seemed a staple of his wardrobe when he wasn't plotting world domination. His hand was on the shoulder of the woman from the last portrait, and in front of them were the five Delightful Children from Down the Lane. The woman's smile was warm and friendly, but Benedict's appeared haughty and self-satisfied.

The fourth portrait right before the bathroom was similar to the third, but this time Father was wearing his black shadow suit. His eyes were an unpleasant yellow, and he openly glowered contemptuously from the portrait, just as his father had in the first. The Delightful Children stood in front of him, as creepy as ever.

The woman was nowhere to be seen.

At that moment the house felt bigger and colder than it had before.

Mr. Boss knew not to bring up the portraits. After an hour or so he sobered up and he and Father decided to call it a night.

As he drove home Mr. Boss knew that he'd probably get an earful from his wife in the morning. That didn't bother him though. He knew she did it because she cared.

A part of him wished that he had an ounce of her kindness.

Why did he do it? Why did he always visit Benedict Uno every Thursday? In the beginning, he'd done it to console Father after the Delightful Children had vanished. Over time it had evolved into a mutual support group of two. Both needed someone to vent to about the stresses of being a villain, and the only one either fully respected in their field of work was each other.

But there was another reason why Mr. Boss would pull an all night drinking session every week for ten years straight at his age.

Mr. Boss hadn't gotten where he was by being a quitter. He wasn't going to have a change of heart any time soon. He knew he was evil. He hated children, and a part of him would always yearn to make them miserable. And if he could make money off of it, so much the better.

But Mr. Boss had a family. He had a wife and children, the only children in the world he didn't despise. He had so much to lose, so much more than money or power. And in those moments he doubted that he could continue on, for fear of letting his work consume him at the expense of his family.

And so every week he traveled to an increasingly run down mansion at the end of the lane, and spent his time with the increasingly bitter man who lived there. Pride, resentment, and wrath had driven Benedict his whole life at the expense of all other feelings, and in the end all it had gotten him was an empty house and a legacy of broken dreams.

Was it all futile? Were they both doomed to fail time and again? Maybe. But it didn't matter.

When you're a child and you lose you can afford to throw a tantrum or give up. But adults rarely have such luxury. When a plan is foiled and your forces are beaten, you don't cry like a baby or complain about how unfair it is.

You try again. And again, and again.

Until you get it right.

To hell with the consequences.

That's what happens when you're evil.


End file.
